


The Sea and Sky Beyond

by sadlygrove



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-23
Updated: 2010-08-23
Packaged: 2017-10-18 09:13:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadlygrove/pseuds/sadlygrove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brief history of the commerce between the US and Ottoman Empire between the 18th and 19th centuries, shown through Turkey's eyes as he tries to define the color in America's own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sea and Sky Beyond

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://hetaliasunshine.livejournal.com/profile)[**hetaliasunshine**](http://hetaliasunshine.livejournal.com/) 2010 with the prompt of Al going out to make some money in the world in a more modern sense than sacking kingdoms like the days of old. There was also the added desire of a rare pair, and what could be more rare than this one?

  
**1767**

Turkey has, of course, heard of America. England brags about the kid enough that all of Europe knows about him--"...hair as gold as wheat in a field, eyes bluer than anything you've ever seen, and he's got a hell of a mouth on him, dunno where he gets it from..."--and on the rare occasions he does have to sit there and listen, Turkey just nods and looks around the table for sugar to add to his tea.

But then he finally meets the kid--actually, he's too tall to be a kid, really--and damn. His eyes are bluer than anything Turkey's ever seen. And Turkey has always studied eyes, his own safely concealed: Greece's look like the sea at dawn; his mother's had resembled a storm building in the distance. Egypt's are like the sun sinking towards the Nile, smoldering yet cool. Russia's eyes look like snow when the moon hits it just right. But as for America's... the closest thing Turkey can come up with is the ocean, but for some reason that falls just a bit short. He can't quite put his finger on that color. Not yet, anyway.

It's a coincidence that Turkey's at the port the day America arrives in Izmir with a handful of merchantmen speaking in French to his own Turkish sailors. America catches sight of him hanging back at the end of the dock, and he smiles, strides forward with confident, even steps. "Hello! You must be Sadiq--Francis has told me a bit about you."

Goddamn France, always stealing whatever mysterious aura Turkey has left. Just to be safe: "Anything that ass has told you is a lie."

America falters in his last step, stumbling forward that final pace. "Er, well I--"

"Just keep that in mind." Turkey can't help the grin that crawls across his face. He used to be awkward and clumsy like that, before he grew into, well, himself. Not that he'll ever admit it. "Does England know you're all the way out here?"

America's jaw immediately goes stiff. "It's none of his business."

Oh ho. Turkey's grin widens. "Fair enough. There a reason you came to my empire, then? A reason that's none of England's business?"

"I wanted to see what was here and..." America shrugs, runs a hand through his hair. The sea breeze ruffles it again, messing it back up. He opens his mouth, closes it once more before deciding on a few meagre words: "And I thought, that maybe..."

"Maybe what?"

Another shrug. "You know."

No, Turkey has no clue. "Trade?" He lifts an eyebrow. "You wanna trade stuff?" Because the kid probably ain't here to declare war, so what else is left?

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess so," America says, even though he looks just a tad bit disappointed.

Slowly, Turkey lets his eyes take in America, look him up once, down twice. He's dressed in a finely tailored suit, but he looks awkward in it, like he's not quite sure how to wear it yet. It clicks, then, because Turkey has bought coats for Greece, dresses for Hungary: "Did England buy you that suit, kid?"

"Uh, yeah, how did you--"

Turkey laughs low and turns; he's a busy man, there are things to do. He's wasted enough time here. "Come back when you're grown up."

He feels more than sees America's bristling aura. "I--fine! I will!"

"Looking forward to it, kid." Turkey waves a hand over his shoulder. "Looking forward to it."

 **1800**

America comes back. And he's grown up.

Goddamn has he grown up.

It's the first time Turkey has seen that flag, the one with a crown of stars and field of stripes, the one that flies over the _USF George_ _Washington_ in Turkey's sea. He doesn't see America on the ship--maybe he's not even on board--but the flag is enough. America has grown up.

In the recesses of his mind, he knows he should be maybe a little bit worried about a backwards colony of farmers trouncing England--knows he should take the hint in his own backyard--but Turkey can't help but feel... impressed. Impressed by the ship and its flag, flowing into the sky that almost looks like America's eyes. Almost, but not quite the same color.

Maybe it's time to think about that trade, Turkey decides. Something a little more substantial than figs and carpets, at least. He'll wait for America to make the first move because, if there's anything he's learned, America has the balls to do it. Turkey'll just wait on that dock, biding his time.

 **1830**

It's been three years since his naval fleet was destroyed--and that's putting it lightly--at Navarino. Three years since the... unpleasantness with Greece. (Three years since France, Russia and England stabbed him in the back, but, hey--who's counting?) And Turkey's standing on his docks once again, waiting for an American ship, one laden with Boston rum destined for Russia and Persia. Turkey can't help but feel a little disappointed; he'd been expecting something bigger, more grandiose from America. Oh well; maybe he can filch a bottle or two to help dull the ache in the wounds he keeps hidden beneath his robes. If anyone gives him crap for drinking, Turkey swears he'll punt them into the Bosphorus.

Even though the kid has a navy of sorts in the Mediterranean now, it's been... Sixty-some years since Turkey last saw those blue eyes. Not for not trying; kid tried to set up consulates and ambassadors with the Sublime Porte, but until now Turkey's bosses were just not that interested. He hates to admit it even to himself, but he's excited to see America again, to see how much the kid-who-kicked-England's-ass has changed.

When America finally gets off his rum-laden ship, boots hitting the wooden planks in even, confident strides--and he doesn't falter this time, not even once--he's sporting a new pair of glasses. His eyes are just as blue behind them. There's really only a sliver of pride left that keeps Turkey just an inch from considering them as equals, he realizes suddenly. He's grown up, and Turkey honestly had been looking forward to it.

America reaches Turkey, grins, thrusts out his hand. His suit fits him impeccably. "I don't believe I properly introduced myself the last time."

Turkey eyes the hand just a bit warily; it's been a rough three years. Slowly, he takes it, surprised at the strength in America's grip.

"I'm Alfred F. Jones." He smiles, and for the first time in months, Turkey feels some of the tension drain from his shoulders. "And I'd like to do business with the Ottoman Empire."

  
There is a low, impressed whistle. "I gotta tell ya, I've never seen such a beautiful house. England's was pretty dreary, and I can't really recall what Canada's looks like. Russia's is always cold, and I'm afraid to touch anything in France's."

"Just don't drool on my tile."

America laughs; it echoes in the great hallway. "Is there somewhere in the palace we can get down to business? About the treaty of commerce?"

"You only just got here, why not have something to eat?" Turkey leads him to a balcony, lavishly decorated, a small table with tea waiting for them. "Sit, please." Say what you will, but Turkey has always considered himself a gracious host to those that intrigue him.

Gingerly, America takes his seat across from Turkey, eyeing the food before him. "Smells good. But you don't mind if I talk business while we eat, do you?"

"If you insist." The servants come quickly with rose-scented water and soft towels; America glances between them and Turkey curiously. "Give 'em your hands and relax." He watches as the servants take America's palms gently, washing and drying them for the meal. When they leave the balcony silently, Turkey speaks again; he had noticed the rigid posture America assumed as soon as the servants had touched him. "This makes you uncomfortable, doesn't it? All of this luxury?"

"Ah, no, that's not..." America flexes his hand, grinning wryly at it. "Just not used to it." He glances back to Turkey's mask. "I grew up in a cabin maybe about the size of just one of these rooms with a fraction of the... stuff in it. Even down south on the plantations we don't have anything quite like this palace."

Turkey shrugs; he can distantly recall living off the plains of Anatolia with nothing but a horse and a sword. They had been trying decades between Mongolia and Persia kicking his ass back and forth. "I lived simply for a time; but everything you see here..." Turkey waves his hand out past the balcony, to the green lawns, the fountains, and even the sea beyond his white towers. "I've earned it."

"Well see, that's just the thing." Smiling pleasantly, America takes off his glasses, wiping them clean on a sleeve. "I'm here to earn my way, but in my own way. If there's one thing I am, sir, it's honest; I missed the boat as far as conquering kingdoms goes. Pretty grateful for that, truth be told, but I gotta find a way to rub two pennies together, don't I?"

Turkey feels his eyebrow lift. "And that's where I come in?"

"Precisely." Delicately, America sets his glasses back on his nose. "You see, sir, I'm something of a ship maker, have been for a long time. And, as I hear it, you are in need of a few ships. Seems pretty simple, doesn't it?"

Now there's an offer to make Turkey's heart skip a beat. His Imperial Navy needs ships like fish need water, plants the sun and Greece a good kick in the butt. "What exactly is it you're offering?"

"Do you like surprises?"

"Not particularly," Turkey says with a slight grimace. He's had too many shitty surprises as of late.

America laughs. It is a fast, high sound; it reminds Turkey, for some absurd reason, of the wind over waves. "You'll like this surprise. Trust me." America winks. "Heck, I think you'll fall in love with it at first sight."

"...alright. As absurd as that sounds."

"Havent'cha ever fallen in love at first sight before?"

"No." Yes. The first time he'd seen Constantinople some four hundred years ago, and the wide expanse of sea and sky beyond.

"I feel bad for you if that's the case, but," America says with a wiggle of his eyebrows, "I doubt that's the honest truth. Everyone's experienced it one time or another. And, even if you truly haven't, you will when you see what I've got in store."

And, oddly enough, Turkey can't help but to believe that.

 **1831**

Damned America; Turkey falls in love with it at first sight.

He falls in love with _The United States_ sailing on exhibition, a corvette with high masts and guns that gleam in the Istanbul sun. It has been so long since he's seen such a fine ship, and he knows immediately that, "I want this," Turkey whispers, licking his lips as he runs his hands over the rigging holding them aloft. "I want it."

"It's over a thousand tons of power and artistry, with twenty-six guns," America says proudly at his side, speaking over the sound of wind and waves crashing on the hull far below. "It may seem a bit small, but she's fast and agile. The finest craftsmanship you'll ever lay eyes on--not to brag or anything!"

Had America even heard him? "I want it," Turkey says again, and his head feels light from staring so intently at the sea far below them. It's like they're flying. "How much?"

"Oh." America's eyes brighten. " _Oh!_ Well, to be honest, I haven't even thought of a--"

"A hundred fifty thousand in your dollars." Turkey loves to bargain, but he wants this ship almost as badly as he has wanted all of the treasures in his palace. "How 'bout it?"

"I... Yeah, that--that sounds reasonable." The smile on America's face looks like it's about to split his cheeks in two. "Can we, can we shake on it, or a drink--"

There's a crick in Turkey's neck and he finally has to look back up from the sea; he does so with a warm chuckle. "I didn't bring anything up here with me, and I ain't gettin' down until we're back in the harbor."

"I've got just the thing!" America reaches into the breast pocket of his sailor's uniform for a flask and pauses, just before it touches his lips. "And how about I sweeten the deal for you?" He grins and takes a swig before passing the flask. "What will you give me then?"

"Depends what you're offering." Turkey drinks; it's that Boston rum. Not his favorite, but it'll do for now. He extends the flask, but holds tight when America reaches for it. "How sweet're you gonna make it?"

"I talked to the naval architect who made this beauty." America's fingers are warm over Turkey's. "He said he's more than willing to stay in Istanbul if your boss hires him to rebuild the Ottoman Navy. Not bad, eh?"

Turkey knows then that he is going to help make America pretty damned rich.

"So! What'll you give me?"

High up on the rigging and sails, wind blowing them to sea and beyond, Turkey leans precariously forward and kisses America just for the hell of it.

 **1837**

It's rare he gets to see America, but when the new frigate and cutters are launched, the kid makes a special appearance at the dockyard on the Golden Horn. And really--honestly!--Turkey's never been one to just seduce any-old-nation, but damnit, there's something about America he likes, even if it eludes him as much as his eye color. If you were to ask him, Turkey would admit that he himself is a pretty good-looking guy (and he tells America such, just in case the kid was unaware since he usually deals with wispy Europeans) and America... He's a good-looking guy too, so. So yeah.

America just laughs, almost spitting out his coffee. "Are you trying to--"

"Just saying." With a grin, Turkey holds up his hands, placating. "Y'ain't over here often enough for me to woo with poetry, so I gotta get straight to the point, don't I?"

"Lucky for you I've never been big on poems."

So Turkey pays for their dinner.

It's fun, it's different, and--for Turkey, at least--it's therapeutic in a sense. And despite all of America's awkwardness around luxury and the posh, Turkey somehow manages to get him to wrap his lips around the hookah afterwards.

A long, white line of smoke shoots from America's mouth in a heavy sigh. "You know, those ships are gonna last you a long time." He passes the mouthpiece, smirking. "I make a mean frigate."

"I can tell." He really can; you don't grow up on the Mediterranean without knowing ships as well as your mother's face. Turkey inhales; exhales, petting at the head of blond hair resting on his thigh. "So. Listen. There's been some... talk, from the bosses in the navy. About your guys."

"Oh yeah?"

"And I'm just throwing it out there," Turkey says with a shrug. Absently, his fingers are carding through America's hair. "But they were thinking some of your officers might want to stay in Istanbul and... be officers here."

America blinks. (His glasses are gone; tossed to the side when he jumped Turkey earlier. Turkey had pinned him to the mattress and gotten a cushion to his face for it. And yet somehow, they've ended up on the floor. Odd.) "And be naval officers for the Ottoman Empire--for you?"

"Was just a thought. Nothing official."

"Hmm." America takes the mouthpiece back, the hookah bubbling pleasantly. "Anything's possible, I suppose. You would take good care of them?"

"Absolutely." Grinning, Turkey can't help but ruffle the blond locks. "You gotta friend in me, kid; don't sweat it."

 **1862**

A long, long time ago, when things like his future were a little less certain, Turkey had gone through his own civil war. It had felt--besides the cold sweats, blacking out, and nausea--like he was being ripped in two. Not a pretty thing. Not at all.

It had just been a suggestion, really, something simple: That none of his ships were to be fitted out for privateering against America. Kid had enough on his plate as it was. And, wouldn't you know it, his boss agreed. And Turkey slept a little better at night.

 **1899**

"This is huge; it's gonna... Gonna open up a whole lot of opportunities between us," America grins. "And you're gonna love New York."

"Hmmn." Nodding, Turkey inhales deeply on his cigarette and leans over the rail of the steamship, puffing through the Mediterranean. "Want one?"

"Thanks!" America selects a cigarette from the silver case, leaning in close to shield the offered match from the wind. "You know," he says after a thoughtful moment, "you could probably sell these at my place; they'd do pretty well."

"Best tobacco in the world comes from my empire."

"Maybe we could strike up a deal?" America wiggles his eyebrows.

"Damn, listen to you!" Turkey barks out a laugh. "Just enjoy yourself, leave business for later, eh?" With a quick glance around them, he lets himself slide up alongside America, their weight warm and heavy against one another.

America leans into it, just a bit. "Alright, alright--one last thing though." He ignores Turkey's groan. "About railroads; I think you would do well with a huge network of--"

"Damn, first sea, now land... I know you said you missed out on the days of sacking kingdoms, but what else are you gonna try to conquer, kid?"

There is a sure, confident smile around the cigarette. "The sky."

And it suddenly strikes Turkey: America's eyes are blue like the thin line of horizon where sky meets sea. It's so obvious; how could he have missed it?

"Well," he says slowly, "I wish you all the luck in the world." Although he has the sneaking suspicion that luck has nothing to do with it at all these days.

  


**Author's Note:**

> \----  
> Here are your notes:  
>   
> The Bicentennial in American-Turkish Relations  
> Author(s): Harry N. Howard  
> Source: Middle East Journal, Vol. 30, No. 3, Bicentennial Issue (Summer, 1976), pp. 291-310  
> Published by: Middle East Institute  
> Stable URL:<http://www.jstor.org/stable/4325513>
> 
>   
>  **1767** : Small-time trade between the US and Turkey begins. The Ottoman Empire is one of the countries the Continental Congress considered asking to recognize America as independent from England in 1774. (Pg 292)
> 
>  **1800** : "The American flag was displayed officially as early as November 9, 1800, flying from the mast of the USF George Washington, under the command of Commodore William Bainbridge, who had been sent to Algeria with the annual tribute to the Bey, who compelled Bainbridge to carry it to the Sultan, together with a number of passengers. " (pg 292)
> 
>  **1830** : Signature of the first trade treaty between the Ottoman Empire and the US; trade would increase well beyond the peanuts it had been years before. The 1830s were also the period that the US had the most impact upon Ottoman politics. Things were fairly hunky-dory. The Ottoman navy got fucked up something fierce in 1827 and needed ships pretty badly.
> 
>  **1831** : _The United States_ is sold for $150,000 and its American naval architect is employed by the sultan to help rebuild the fleet.
> 
>  **1837** : "The first frigate was launched on May 18, 1835, while August 21, 1837, saw the launching of a frigate, a 20-gun brig, and two one-gun cutters." (pg 294) There was also hinting that the Ottoman Empire would like some American naval officers, but nothing ever came of that as far as I'm aware.
> 
>  **1862** : So you've probably heard that Russia was the only European power to support the Union during the US Civil War. But, depending of your definition of 'Europe' that's not really the case. The Sublime Porte of the Ottoman Empire was rooting for the Union too. (pg 296) In another paper I read a year ago, they mentioned the sultan sending a caravan of good will to the Union. If anyone can verify this, that would be so badass I would scream.
> 
>  **1899** : The first direct route from New York to Constantinople is run by the Barber Steamship Company. (pg 296) The railroads Alfred is mentioning is the Chester concession, which actually failed spectacularly, but if it had succeeded--as with all things--history would probably look a little different today. Also, in the early 1900s Turkish tobacco would become pretty popular in the US.
> 
>  **Greek War of Independence** If you're wondering about America's official stance on it, it was not to get involved. While a lot of US citizens donated money, time and blood to the Greek cause, Congress never passed any resolutions and maintained strict neutrality, despite Henry Clay's eloquent rallying that the US should go kick some ass in the name of Socrates.  
>    
> 


End file.
